The Date Of Death
by Paramoredud
Summary: 16-year-old Spencer Reid is devastated when he is told that his brother and his brother's wife were murdered by a serial killer. The LVPD have been trying to catch this killer for 6 months and finally decide to call in the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit.Will they catch the killer before they strike again? Based on Reid but it's a team/case-fic. No Elle or Emily or Rossi.
1. Prologue

_**PROLOGUE**_

**Las Vegas, Nevada**

Tension was rising around the table. Nervous glances were exchanged with unknown faces. Poker chips rattled, as they were stacked on top of each other, in quick, rhythmic succession, while the players on the table looked for frowns of a weak hand, or the concealed glee of a royal flush. No such luck. All faces were poker faces. No emotions whatsoever. Cameras turned overhead as they surveyed the casino, giving eyes to the officials who watched each and every move the card players were making, nestled in an isolated, hidden computer room. Sun-glassed guards were watching, stone-faced, keeping their eyes peeled for any card-counters and other forms of cheaters. Security was extremely tight in the casino of the Las Vegas Hotel. But it was not enough.

Looks like the guy next to you is trying to make a full house. Watch out for him: his smile isn't a bluff," a disembodied voice crackled through the near-invisible earpiece attached to the seemingly innocent man sitting on the table. His pale, blue eyes held absolutely no worries, which was less than could be said for his fellow betters. He gradually turned to the man beside him, the one the voice was indicating, and offered him a sly smile. He received an ugly scowl in return.

Nice. Let him know you're on to him and get kicked out! Just tone it down a bit!" The voice belonged to Michael Reid, standing two tables away, pretending to be interested in a nearby game, and occasionally sipping a glass of red wine. In reality, he was watching the events unfold in the high-stakes poker game, where his new accomplice was fiddling with his chips, trying to act nervous.

It had been Michael's idea to try to win big, so they could buy something for their ladies. The tag team had just met outside of the casino entrance; Michael was with his wife, Samantha and Pete Castello (the poker player) with his wife Lola. They had a few things in common: Both had a beautiful wife on their hands and were both at the hotel for a fun and wild night. They had immediately clicked. The men went off to the casino while the women decided to go to a nightclub not too far off from the hotel. Due to Michael's amazing card counting ability, he was able to approximate the cards each player was trying to pick up, judging by the amount of cards in the pot, and the cards already shown on the table. But he couldn't pull it off by himself: he'd been banned from many casinos within the Las Vegas borders, because of his talent and his inability to hide it and use it wisely. With another person added into the equation, he was able to judge what type of cards the players had, and what they planned to make of them, while keeping in a comfortable position away from the actual game, under the radar of the security guards and the cameras. Michael smiled inwardly. He had wanted a wild night, away from the kids, and look at what he had got! They had already won $100,000! If they held out just a little longer they would be living large! _Don't get too cocky_, he thought to himself. He quickly turned his attention back to the game.

The last card had been dealt. It was now Castello's turn to bet. He some of his chips together and placed them into the middle of the table.

"All in," he stated confidently, as he pushed the rest of his chips into the pot. Varying degrees of barely-concealed looks of disbelief and astonishment were shared between the four remaining players. Hell, it even took Michael all of his willpower to stop himself from storming over to Castello and throttling some sense into him.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?!" Michael angrily whispered into his concealed mike, tucked away in the pocket of his tux." This was _not _part of the plan. It's too early to go all in. You're going to lose us all of our money!"

Castello was acting as if the faces openly staring at him didn't exist, as if Michael's voice ringing in his ear was merely a nearly inaudible buzz. He acted like he was above it all. Meanwhile, a man with fake aviator glasses and a fake Rolex placed in all of his chips as well and declared he was calling Castello's 'all in'. The man with the glasses was also the one with a high probability of making a full house. The next guy reluctantly folded, and threw his cards on the table in disgust. '_Lucky him, _Michael thought. _At least he gets to keep what's left of his dignity.'_

The petite woman was next. She said her name was Julie. She didn't look like much of a threat, but she could bluff her way out of anything. Her façade, however, never fooled Michael, and she had lost a fair amount of money because of that. Yet, she still called, placing all of her chips into the middle. They all stared at the remaining player. With a grin almost as big as Castello's, he placed all of his coins into the middle.

Eager to show his brilliance, Fake Rolex showed his five cards, revealing 4 Queens and a Jack. A full house. Exactly what Michael had expected? Julie furiously threw her cards down. A minor two pair. Castello waited politely for the last person to show his cards. He showed his cards. 3 of a kind. Castello sighed and shook his head.

"Oh yeah baby! Come to momma" Fake Rolex shouted in triumph, taking Castello's sigh as a sigh of defeat, gathering all the chips and pulling them towards him.

"Not so fast, man," said Castello, and revealed his hand. Michael stared in amazement at the cards. Gasps were heard from the crowd around the table. A 10 of Hearts, a Jack of Hearts, a Queen of Hearts, a King of Hearts and an Ace of Hearts. The royal flush.

"That is just… It's not possible," the flabbergasted Fake Rolex decided.

"Oh, but it is. So I'll be taking those chips." Pete reached for the chips and gathered them towards him. There was more than $100,000 worth of chips in front of Castello. Michael could just taste the expensive wine they were going to taste to celebrate their amazing triumph.

After their big win, they exchanged the chips for money and went up to Michael's suite, where they found Samantha Reid puking her guts out into the toilet, giggling between each upchuck, being consoled by a surprisingly sober Lola Castello.

"So, how was the club?" Michael grinned at the two ladies.

"Some guys offered to buy us drinks. Samantha didn't want to turn them down," explained Lola.

"Well, we shouldn't let Samantha be he odd one out." Pete reached for the phone and called room service, ordering 12 bottles of red wine. It arrived in a matter of seconds. Pete then poured the wine into three glasses and gave two out to Pete and Lola.

Raising his own glass Pete declared a toast." _Possiate tutti vivere una vita lunga e felice. _May you all live long and happy lives."

"Who knew Pete could actually lie!" shouted a thoroughly drunk Lola, rubbing Pete's arm. "I wouldn't want to be on the other side of his bluffs!"

After the first sip of wine, the rest of the evening went by in an array of distorted shapes and images. And that was _before _Castello had offered the marijuana. Now, Pete, Lola and Samantha were playing Blackjack on the floor with the TV blaring loud rap music from an unknown music channel. Michael was out on the terrace; shouting at the top of his lungs about God knew what, earning him several disapproving glares from below.

Pete got up from him kneeling position on the floor and went to bring Michael into the room before his loud ramblings got the cops on them. They were now all in the large hotel room. Slowly, Lola got up and made her way towards Michael. Once she got to him, she gently kissed Michael on the lips. Michael let out a moan and kissed her back. The two of them moved towards the bathroom, never breaking apart, and went inside, slamming the door behind them.

There was just Pete and Samantha left in the room.

"Man, I thought they'd never leave!" said Pete, receiving a high-pitched, drug induced giggle from Samantha." He sat down opposite her. "Now, we can finally be alone," he seductively whispered in her ear. As she turned her head towards Pete, eyes closed, ready for his soft kiss, Pete drew closer to her, until their lips were almost touching. "This is going to be fun."

"I ag-." She never got to finish her sentence. With a sickening jerk, Pete pulled the knife out of her neck and watched her blood flow out in grotesque awe, admiring his artwork.

Samantha tried to call for Michael, to try to tell him something was wrong, but it was no use. The words wouldn't come out of her mouth. Pete calmly walked over to Samantha and laid her on the bed, covering her mouth to make sure any lost words could not escape. His hands slowly found their way to her throat. He began to squeeze the life out of her bloody body. He gave a cold laugh as she tried to shake him off her. He loved it when they put up a fight. It made the kill more exciting. His grip hardened. He stared as the life went out of Samantha Reid's eyes. Finally, her head lolled to the side. Pete got off his kill and went over to the bathroom. He knocked on the door.

We're a little busy at the moment," came Michael's voice from behind the door. Suddenly the door burst open. Lola petite frame became more distinct as she went over to Pete and faithfully stood by his side. Michael took in the horrific scene before: His beautiful wife, Samantha, lying dead on the bed, the sheets stained with her blood; Pete's ragged breath, and the cold, malicious glint in his eyes. Even though Michael's brain wasn't at it's best, he could still piece together the facts. He came to a conclusion: they had been played.

"Come on, you guys, we can work this out. If it's money you want then you can keep what we got from the casino!" Michael tried to reason with his wife's killer. Lola game Michael a cool smile and watched with delight as Pete subjected Michael to the same treatment as his wife. Only this time, Lola dragged the body over to the bed then placed him on the edge of it, so that he was in a sitting position on the edge of the bed, beside his wife's feet. Lola got to work. A few minutes later, the young couple were in position. Lola and Pete Castello admired their handiwork.

"I'd say this is our finest piece yet, Sylvia," said a delighted Pete.

"We even got a cash bonus!" beamed Sylvia Bennet. She had been using an alias (Lola) all night, as well as Pete, who's real name was Chris Bennet. "To bad it always has to end."

"After we wash up we just need to pack our bags and head somewhere else. You get to choose this time sweetie!"

"Finally, it's my turn! You can shower first. There are still some little adjustments to be made." Sylvia concentrated on the couple before her. With a sadistic grin almost as wide as the slit in Michael's throat, she began to prepare the crime scene.

4


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds **

_**CHAPTER 1**_

The flash of the camera illuminated the frozen faces of the dead couple lying on the hotel bed. The crime scene photographer walked to the edge of the bed, in order to get a different angle of the bodies. Elsewhere, two Crime Scene Investigators were combing the room for DNA, prints, and whatever else could help them find out who killed the victims.

Lieutenant Howard Parker strode into the crowded hotel room with his mastered cop's gait. Usually, his face was an expression of calm and tranquillity, so much so that he had earned the nickname of Saint Howie, the Serene. But today was different. The creased lines across his forehead emphasized the frown etched upon his weather-beaten face. His shoulders were hunched forward, as if bearing a huge weight on them. This wasn't exactly untrue. He was greeted by one of the members of the homicide team, the team that he was currently leading.

"Both victims were slashed across the throat, execution style, the man killed near the bathroom door and the woman at the foot of the bed," stated the grim-faced Detective Moore. " The Medical Examiner said the woman was killed first."

" Probably kept the man in the bathroom to subdue him, make sure he didn't watch his wife being killed. He would've fought back otherwise," acknowledged Lieutenant Parker." We know planning means everything to these killers: for them it's part of the thrill."

Moore cringed. " You sure it's them?"

"The way the bodies are positioned… You tell me if you know anyone else who leaves them like that" said Parker, irritation creeping into his voice. _'Moore has only been on the team for 3 months, but still… he should know better than to emit false hope' _thought Parker. "Time of death?"

"ME placed it between 12 to 3 am. No prints turned up so far, all blood belongs to the victims, no trace, none whatsoever… these guys just…how can they see this as entertainment? Cold-blooded slaughter is some kind of game to them." Detective Moore was not a man who was easily spooked. But even men like him would be afraid when standing in the horrific remains of a monsters quest to redeem an unquenchable thirst. The thirst for fear. The thirst for weakness. The thirst for blood.

Parker began to message his forehead, a sign of the coming of defeat. " Any ID on the victims"?

The days events were already beginning to take a turn for the worse. Moore did not disappoint. " They're just John and Jane Doe for now. We couldn't find anything on them in here, so we went down to reception."

"And?"

" This hotel room was booked under the name Peter Castello. I showed the guy in reception a picture of John Doe's face. He said it was definitely not him who checked in last night. One of the killers booked this room, and his name is Peter Castello, " Said Moore confidently, finally able to give evidence that didn't lead to a dead end.

" Don't get your hopes up. Peter Castello is likely just an alias; they're not stupid enough to give their real names. Everything else about them screams natural born killer." Parker was used to batting away feeble theories based on even weaker evidence. " Does everything else suit their routine?"

A dejected Moore began to read from a long list of carefully annotated notes from his yellow pad, tapping each point as he went along. " Same MO, same victims, no trace evidence, the absence of the wallet seems like a type of robbery to me, plus there's a part of the male victims hand that's a lighter shade than the rest of it, so I think a watch was stolen too. No witnesses who can ID the killers, nothing we can use to nail these guys, and, of course, no wedding rings on the victims. Only difference is, this time we got no ID on the victims, seems like a different ruse was used, judging by the tape we went over, and the ummmm… _positions _of the bodies. They're different too. But that was expected."

Through the whole speech Parker had been standing still, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only thing separating him from his seeming brethren lying dead on the bed. But now he spoke. " Call the Captain," he instructed Moore, " tell him to bring in the FBI."

"The FBI, sir?" said a startled Moore.

"This has gone on too far. I should've called them when we were at the first scene, it would've just been the LVPD asking for assistance on a murder. But now? Now it's a cry for help. The body counts stacking up and we still have no leads. There's no other choice. We need to bring in the FBI, let them take over the case. Too many deaths are hung on our heads.

**Quantico, Virginia **

A symphony of telephones ringing was unleashed as the man opened the door of his office. Aaron Hotchner took in the cluttered desks and the faces of boredom that were seated underneath those very uninhabited wonders. These were the most striking features of the bullpen- ordinary to the point of disorganisation. Which could not be said of the occupants of those desks.

"BAU meeting at the round table in 5 minutes," called out Hotchner, directing his voice towards the three people taking up the space of one of those cluttered desks as he strode purposefully towards the room housing the meeting 'round table'.

"How much do you wanna bet that this case has got a lotta dead people in it?" questioned the take-no-shit-unless-it's-from-yourself Special Agent Royce Jackson to his fellow colleagues, the male one of them sitting backwards on the chair next to his desk, the female other sitting atop that desk, with legs dangling from the side.

"Aw man, five dollars at _least_!" said SSA Derek Morgan, playing along with Jack's version of what is called 'BAU fun'.

"Come on guys. This case is big. Hotch almost blew his head off when it came on his desk. To be honest, I wanted to join him, too. These guys should've called us at the first murder." This came from the 'mother hen' of the group, Jennifer Jareau, media liason for the BAU. Trust her to shoot things back into normal BAU talk.

Jack wore an expression of mock disbelief on his face. " Why did _you _get to see that?! I've always wanted to see _Hotch _angry! It almost _never_ happens!

"I'm serious! Hotch took one look at the case and then just had this look of,erm..," JJ paused, unable to find the perfect simile to define Hotch's anger.

"It looked like… like how that killer in California looked at the police officer who'd just shot him in the ass" said Morgan, clicking his fingers together once the perfect answer came to him.

"Exactly!"

"Care to give us some inside info on what the meeting is about, JJ?" asked a hopeful Morgan.

"Not gonna happen Derek"

"Guys I think we should go now. Wouldn't want to put another bullet in there." As Jack got up he began to gather lose items of clothing hiding in drawers within his desk (dirty, even in BAU standards), and stuffed them into a duffel bag beneath his desk. "I have a feeling this will be a long one."

CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM-CM—

"We have a case in Las Vegas, Nevada. Three couples have been murdered over the course of 6 months. The first couple, Naomi and Augustus Waters were found in a hotel just next to Las Vegas Boulevard, 9th of July. They were staying there for a holiday." As soon as JJ gave these pieces of information she clicked the remote and a picture of the dead couple came onto the screen. There was a silence that followed as the positioning of the bodies registered in the members of the BAU's minds.

"Crystal and Logan Meyers were found in the house they were renting for their vacation, September 4th." Another image, this time depicting a different dead couple, in a different position. It was less of a shock than the first, but still demeaning nonetheless.

" And, the most recent victims, an unidentified couple found in a hotel room two days ago." Another picture on the screen, another silence filled with contemplative thoughts.

"All victims had their throats slashed, and had a considerable amount of items taken from them. All of their wallets were taken. LVPD were only able get an ID on the first and second couple because the first couples were signed into the hotel under their names and the second couple were identified by the house owner, who was away on vacation at the time of the murder. The third couple could not be identified because their wallets were gone _and _the room was booked under the name Peter Castello, the victims face not matching the person who signed in: the words of the receptionist on duty at the time."

"If they were unidentified, how do we know they were a couple?" This voice belonged to SSA Jason Gideon, the leader of the group.

"Umm, well, we don't but the LVPD were just assu-."

"Never assume anything. Though it seems very likely that these two were a couple, jumping to conclusions won't get us the profile we need."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," said JJ, who never missed a beat.

"The UNSUB kills 6 people over the course of 6 months. Doesn't seem all too patient to me," piped in Morgan, beginning the round of thinking out loud that occurred as soon as a case brief was given.

"Ah, UNSUB_S. _The second murder turned up two different hair samples, none belonging to the victims or the home owner, who very rarely had people over except for with the victims."

"That would explain why they take on two potential victims: with two of them the victims are easier to subdue," provided Jack.

"If there are two UNSUBS, there's a possibility that the victims reflect their own closeness; the UNSUBS could be a couple themselves, or related in some way." This one came from Hotch.

It was Jason's turn to speak." Either way, they won't stop until they're caught. Wheels up in 30.

**Sorry it hasn't gottent to interesting parts yet, but the next chapter will definitely! Please review **


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds **

_**CHAPTER 2**_

**Las Vegas, Nevada**

The ominous building loomed above him, blotting out the only visible traces of sunlight amongst the already gloomy sky. The setting somehow fit the circumstances that had brought the young Spencer Reid here in the first place.

It had _not _been a good day. And that was before he went by to his brother's house, only to find the distressed Hispanic nanny, Juanita, telling him that his brother and his wife had not come back from their vacation only meant to last one day. The kids, the oldest of the six of them aging at 3 years old, were in hysterics, some screaming, some even going as far as throwing things that were not made for throwing at the nanny, who had threatened to sue and call the police. Well, the threat of calling the police was as empty as Juanita's passport info. Spencer's brother was never one for 'unnecessary payments'. His brother also wasn't one for understanding any meaning to the words 'curfew' or 'responsibility or even 'go nuclear on you'. All of these words had been those from Spencer's mouth, just before sending the couple on their way. He had warned them that any elongated absences would surely lose them the only nanny, who could tolerate (barely) the charming characteristics that came with the deal of adopting 6 children, all from birth, with 4 having a space reserved for them on the autism spectrum. But obviously the role models for irresponsible parenting had chosen to ignore his pleas for just an ounce of brain usage.

Even before the irritation had bubbled fully to the surface, the day had not gone according to plan: after his enrolment in the Las Vegas Institute of Art, it seemed as if everyday was a blur of painting after splotchy painting. The essays, though instilling an air of tranquillity and ease, were not meant for the average time consumed students. As if that wasn't bad enough, the essays he had stayed up all night producing had been in vain: Professor Florence had never turned up for the lecture, probably due to the insomnia that many art-obsessed maniacs possessed: it came with the job profession of being a Professor at an art college.

Spencer let out a sigh of utter exhaustion: the night of essay writing had left him with 30 minutes of sleep and a strange craving for Pot Noodles. Shaking his head of floppy brown hair, he went into the HQ of the LVPD.

CM- -CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- -

The interior had a strange alliance with the exterior of the building: both were made to persuade those entering the building to judge a book by its cover, thus making them run for the hills, the threat of brain damaging boredom following in hot pursuit. These were the exact thoughts that ran through Spencer's mind as he sat in the 'waiting area', his foot making invisible indentations with his repeated foot tapping upon the grimy floor. Finally, (it seemed like an eternity), the line had dispersed, leaving an opening for Spencer to jump into.

"How can I help you, son?" If the voice had held any emotion, if the creased poker face had yielded to a hint of a smile, he would have felt at least a touch of reassurance.

Spencer was not much of a people person himself. " Um… I'd like to…uh… hah fi-"

"Listen, kid, I do _not _have time for this. If this is some kind of prank, feel free to leave right now. If you have a real emergency say it now," said a man who clearly did not like teenagers. One forgotten fact about the young Spencer Reid: he was _young_ enough to be in high school. 16-years-old, to be exact. Many people got the same first impression of Spencer as this man had just come to: a wise guy looking for trouble- of course this was before people found out genius style tendencies.

"Um right. Well, I'd like to file a, um, a Missing Persons report. My brother and his wife were er meant to return from their one day vacation… two days ago… but they um haven't." He found it hard to get words out when around strangers, even more so when that stranger looked at you so blankly, you almost expected drool to start dropping from his mouth. Another genius tendency: extreme shyness in some cases, one of those cases being Spencer's.

"Are you sure it's been 48 hours since you last saw them?" The officer assumed he was lying.

"Yes. Yes I'm sure."

Poker Face let out an annoyed sigh. " Names?"

"Um… Michael and Samantha Reid." There was a flurry of fingers as this information was typed onto the system. "And you said they were married?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Another round of clicking. " Ages?"

"Michael is 29 and Samantha is um 27."

This time the officer didn't even bother looking up from the screen. "When was the last place you saw them?"

"Um… well, like I said, two days ago…"

"Uh-huh. And where was this?"

"Just outside their house… 7 Bonanza Rd, 89017." The questioning was starting to agitate him, making him begin the art that his foot tapping once again.

"Do you have any idea where they were staying for their vacation?"

"Um… They said they might think about checking in at the Hard Rock Hotel?" Samantha Reid was known for her spontaneity. It was one of the reasons why Michael had fell in love with her. She went where the wind blew, with no location in mind, a real pain when one was trying to file a missing persons report.

There must've been an unexpected bump along Earth's travelled path around the sun. It was the only explanation for the widening of Poker Face's eyes as he stared at hidden information on the monitor screen.

After the widening of the eyes, a break of emotion swept across the officer's face, one of which was that of sympathy. " Can you give a description, son?" His fingers had stopped fluttering across the keys. All of his undivided attention was on Spencer. Whether this was a good or bad thing was soon to be found out.

What was this? Why was the officer looking at him as if he was some kind of basket case? " Michael, um, has brown hair, kind of like mine, but um he has black roots, dyed black and it's kind of spiked." Spencer remembered the day he tried talk him out of it. A smile crept across his face in remembrance. " Brown eyes like mine too um, I mean I guess you could say he's handsome in a weird way, kind of chiselled features, with um slightly tan skin. Well built."

The man's voice had dropped to a mournful murmur. "Any distinguishing features?"

"Yes. Um… he has a small scar coming out of his mouth: he, ha, he ate a staple from a stapler when he was two years old." That was a fond memory, too.

The officer's lips did not up turn into a smile. Instead those very lips formed a grimace upon the once blank canvas. "And the lady?"

"She, um, well, she is… _very _pretty. Beautiful, actually, but she never admits it. Green eyes, like um the sea. Long, curly blonde hair, down to her um chest, perfect teeth, slender build, and um distinguishing feature would be, a birthmark right next to her ankle."

One more tap on the computer, to bring the symphony to an abrupt halt. The officer's eyes began to bulge out of their sockets. He uttered his words carefully. "I think you need to come with, son."

"I-is there a problem?" He would not be surprised if the system had the couple logged as armed, believed dangerous.

"Just… follow me. Please."

CM- -CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- -

"Listen, um Spencer? Can I call you Spencer?" asked Lieutenant Parker.

"Um…Yeah?" This day was getting weirder by the minute. Spencer was definitely sticking with the 'fugitives on the run' idea about his brother and sister-in-law.

"I'm going to show you a photo of… two people. I need you to tell me if you recognize them. Is that OK?" He was talking to him as if he was a 4 year old.

"Yes, that's fine."

"Good. That's good." Parker took out a manila folder and placed it in the middle of the table, facing Spencer. "Now, these are crime scene photos, so they may be… a bit graphic… for you; they may come as a shock. Are you _sure_ you want to see them?"

"_Crime Scene Photos?" _squeaked Spencer.

"Yes."

How serious was their crime! If the crime scene photos were as detailed as the lieutenant was letting on-and there was no reason to lie- what exactly did they do?

"I'll see the photos." What else could he do?

"Ok. Well, here we go." Parker slowly opened the file, finally revealing the truth, in all its hideous glory.

Spencer let out gasping breath, as if he'd been punched directly in the gut. But that was improbable: the pain he was feeling reflected much more than that of a minor _physical _blow; the pain he was feeling was not that of broken joints or prudent bruises. The deepness of the void that had opened beneath the surface of his now translucent skin was sucking in any good memories, leaving behind the picture that had caused all of these fatalities. The picture of his always-smiling brother, now with a face frozen in a mask of utter horror, the picture that held his beautiful sister-in-law in a statue of humiliation and fearfulness. Both lying dead together on the same bed: until death do us part. Naked. Vulnerable. Broken- he could see it in their eyes.

Parker closed the folder. Although it seemed unnecessary from Spencer's reaction, he was obliged to ask the fatal question. "Do you recognize them?"

A tear slide down Spencer's cheek." Yes." A contained sob broke through his lips. " It's them."

A brief pause. " I'll leave you to yourself for a few minutes. Then I'll answer any questions you may have"

CM- -CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- -

How could this have happened? Of all the ways to go, he would have expected them to die doing something they loved like rock climbing or skiing or even something as simple as hiking. He certainly hadn't expected it to come so soon, and by the hands of enemies: they were such a friendly couple. But maybe that was the reason they had to die. Maybe they were _too _friendly, hooked up with the wrong people. They trusted too many people, and now? Now they were lying somewhere in the human fridge, prepping for an autopsy underground. It made him sick to the stomach.

Suddenly an awful thought came to kind. What would happen to the kids? Who would take care of them? They would be taken in by social services, forced to go through the gruelling foster programs and parents. They wouldn't be able to stand that, _especially_ those with autistic capabilities.

And all because he had suggested they take a small vacation just to get away from the kids for a day, and have some needed fun. It was all because of his stupid suggestion that they were now dead. All his fault.

He _would _find out who did this. To avenge their deaths and to make sure they rested in peace. He would do everything in his power to make sure their legacies remained within their children. To do all of that, he had to solve this murder. And to do that he needed a clear head. He began to wipe his eyes, an action that was as good as trying to stop a flood with a meagre tissue.

CM- -CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- -

The lieutenant walked back into the room. Spencer had seemed to calm down since the onslaught of evidence depicting his brother and sister-in-law as nothing more than dead persons. Evidence of tears still spoke in angry, red marks down his cheek.

"Now, I need to ask some questions first, get them out of the way, then you ca-"

"I'd like to see the photo again." Spencer had never sounded so sure of himself.

The teen's outburst worried Parker. "I don't think that's a good id-" Again he was interrupted.

"I don't care. I _need _to see that photo again," said an emotionless Reid.

"Do you really think, …"Parker sighed. He could see it in his eyes: Spencer was not going to back down. There was no point in trying to talk him out of it. He once again placed the file on the table, facing Spencer, and then opened it once again.

Spencer leaned forward, taking in the crude positions, the stained sheets. The coup de grâce. Only this time, he blurred out the faces, or at least tried to: forgetting something was not easy for someone with an eidetic memory. Something seemed to interest him about the photo. This observation worried Parker even more.

The teenager reached into his messenger bag and brought out a file of his own. "There's something familiar about this…" He started to flick through pages.

"Well, this is the work of two serial killers. The pictures the press release are limited, but maybe pictures of one of the other murder scenes somehow got out."

"No, it's not that. Something struck me when I first saw the crime scene photo, but I didn't think much of it, because… well, you know," muttered Spencer, not looking up from his intense page turning. It was his turn to play the role of Poker Face.

Parker leant forward, trying to see the contents of Spencer's files. Most of the laminated pages contained photo after photo of artwork, artwork and yet more artwork, with small captions written underneath.

Spencer's excessive page turning finally came to a halt. His finger rested upon a small photo depicting a woman tending to a baby. It was captioned '_Leonardo da Vinci. Madonna Litta'_

He turned both files towards Parker, placing them side-by-side. "See anything familiar?"

Recognition flickered across Parker's eyes." I-It's a match!" He brought the files closer towards him, scrutinizing both photos with watchful eyes. The crime scene photos had placed the man in the position of a child, lying across the lap of the woman, with his mouth hovering close to his wife's breast, while his wife was in an upright position, naked, but still tending to the 'child'. It all clicked into place now. The demeaning positions the killers had worked so tenderly to achieve was not only one of malicious humour: they were also trying to signify paintings. After 6 months his whole team couldn't work out this crucial point, yet a 16-year-old had worked it out in less then five minutes. Parker was only just beginning to realize the extraordinary mind of the young teen sitting before him.

"Can I show you the other crime scene photos, see if you can identify any of those ones too? I have to warn, they are as gory as the one you just saw." Parker could see newfound hope, all evolved just because of an inference of the person in front of him.

Spencer hesitated. Could he really be up to seeing other photos, of different couples, with the same faces of frozen dismay etched upon all of their faces? He shook his head slightly. If it could bring him closer to his brother's killer, he would do _anything. _

"Yes," he replied," Yes, I'll help you."

CM- -CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- - CM- -

Lieutenant Parker the office in which Spencer was kept. He did nothave time to waste. " Can I get the crime scene photos of all of the Ghost killings?" he asked Manny Del Rio, one of the detectives on the case.

"Sure thing, boss." His gaze suddenly diverted towards the open door that lead into the Homicide Division of the LVPD, the room they were standing in right now. A man and a woman, both wearing black suits had just entered. "But first I think you might wanna greet our guests. Think they just flew in from Quantico, Virginia."

The cavalry had arrived.


End file.
